


Afterwards

by MatchaChocolate



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchaChocolate/pseuds/MatchaChocolate
Summary: Freddy confesses in the car after being shot. Larry doesn't kill him, but wants to.
Relationships: Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 110





	Afterwards

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fill from the ask "would you ever wanna write something about the first time they fuck after the heist? like theyve made it to mexico and freddie is healing and theyve found a place to settle down"
> 
> this is going to be more sad than sweet
> 
> first posted on tumblr himbofreddynewandyke.tumblr.com

“Home sweet home” Larry muttered. The apartment was small and dodgy, but the landlord had taken cash in hand without asking for any ID. It had three rooms: a main living room with a beat up couch and tv tray next to it, and in the corner a bench with a microwave and shelves that seemed to function as a kitchen; a bedroom with one piece of furniture, a bed that was fortunately large and had sheets but unfortunately had seen better days; and a bathroom that seemed designed for the use of half of a extremely small skinny person.

Larry carried most of their stuff in while Freddy limped around and then lent on the kitchen bench. He was clearly in pain, but there was no blood on his shirt so none of his stitches had popped in the 30 hour car ride. Larry had spent most of it gripping the wheel, his hands white, thinking he could always just kill him now, keep driving, dispose of the body somewhere, he could make a new life for himself anywhere, dragging his boy - the traitor, the cop – along would just slow him down. But deep inside he knew that when he hadn’t killed Freddy right after his confession, when he’d tossed money at a surgeon (or so he claimed to be) until the guy agreed to fix Freddy best he could, when he’d loaded the younger man before he’d even come up from the anesthesia into his car and driven them across the border, that he’d already made his choice.

“I’ll take the couch” Larry said, settling up some blankets there. “it’s a double bed” Freddy said. Larry ignored him.

Larry was never one for drugs himself, but his decades in the criminal world meant he could find what he needed, no sweat, he went out for a drink, waited around the bar until he could figure out who was dealing and the best way to approach them. He used the broken Spanish he knew to get some painkillers for Freddy, then went home, made the kid sit up and take them with a glass of water. Freddy didn’t even hesitate or ask what he was being given, and Larry wondered if he could slip the kid a cyanide tablet just as easy. But that type of clean, impersonal kill wasn’t his style.

Freddy had more strength right now than Larry had thought, slipped his arm over Larrys back, angled towards him, “Larry” the kid breathed. His boy. Mr Orange. Cop. Fucking pig. Rat. Freddy. A week ago Larry would’ve given anything to know his name, had starting thinking of him in his head as ‘my boy’, but now he couldn’t even say the name. Freddy. What a fucking joke, that some sweet faced man with a tough guy facade, pink lips and soft whimpers in bed, would bable to Larry for hours about comic books and action figures, even had a boyish name to match, would be the one to ruin everything, make Larry destroy everything he had in life.

The kid – Freddy – was half in his lap now, probably emboldened by the fact that Larry hadn’t pushed him away, had been too deep in thought. “Larry,” he said again, and then started kissing him, “Larry, Larry, please, let’s fuck”.

Holy fuck he’s bold, Larry thought. Larry thought ten times a day about finally putting a bullet through the kid’s skull, but hadn’t even considered them having sex again.

But still his hands made their way to Freddy’s waist. The first time ever they’d had sex, laughing and half drunk, they fit together so well, so naturally, as if they’d known each other hundreds of years instead of just days, knew just where and how to touch each other, what the other craved, and this time was the exact same, Freddys mouth moving on instinct to kiss and suck on the side of larrys jaw where it met his neck, just where it drove him wild.

“You’re not healed” Larry muttered, “I’ll jack you off, we can’t fuck, you got half your insides blown out” “I dont care” Freddy said, then again, in that whiney voice that Larry had tried to pretend he found annoying instead of intoxicating, “pleeeeease”

Everything with Freddy always came easy to him – fucking him, talking with him, believing him. He knew without practice how to make the kid come fast, or have a long lazy fuck, how to calm him down when he was looking upset, or the way he liked to be held just after sex. And now just as easy he had the kid, the cop, the traitor, on his back, fingers slicked with some hand cream, then inside him. Larry didn’t want to look at his face right now, instead concentrated on sliding his cock in, but his eyes were drawn to the yellow and grey bruised skin peaking out under Freddys shirt, hiding the scaring and stitches that must be covering his stomach.

When he did look up, Freddy’s face was bliss, as if somehow Larry having sex with him made him redeemed, made him forgiven. But he wasn’t, Larry thought with a sudden burst of anger. Freddy hadn’t redeemed himself, and Larry didn’t forgive him. Freddys head was thrown back, his throat exposed, and Larry felt like lifting his arm, clawing the kids throat out, snapping his neck. To stop himself from doing any of that, Larry pulled away suddenly, pulled out and off of Freddy and the kid made a noise of pain, shock and confusion as Larry turned his back and left the room, door slamming.

Freddy was smart enough not to follow him immediately. Larry heard him come into the living room hours later, his footsteps sliding as he edged himself towards the couch, holding onto the wall for balance “Hey…” he said gently. “Fuck off” Larry replied.

Larry didn’t know what time it was, but knew Freddy was still awake, he opened the bedroom door, expecting Freddy to mimic him and tell Larry to fuck off, he knew the kid could throw a sulk. But he didn’t, just watched the ceiling as Larry laid on the other side of the bed, neither of them looking at the other.

“I gave up so much for you” Larry said, the words coming out more bitter than he wanted them to. “I gave up so much for you too! I gave up everything! I can’t fucking go back now.” Freddy replied, and then softer, “but I don’t wanna go back”. Another stretch of silence between them. “About earlier-” Freddy began but Larry cut him off. “it was just too soon”. He wanted to add something comforting, maybe "it was just too soon, but we’ll get there" but that seemed too optimistic, too false.

Neither of them moved, both laying on separate sides of the bed with a large person-sized gap between them, Larry didn’t think they’d ever been in the same bed without being practically on top of each other, but this time they both laid there not touching, not talking, their breathing the only sound in the room. Slowly, as if he didn’t know whether it was going to be accepted or rejected, Freddy moved his arm over, clasped his hand in Larry’s. Larry gave a squeeze back, but neither of them moved any closer.


End file.
